


If Broken Hearts Could Talk (Mine Would Say, I Told You So)

by sp00kz



Series: Wrong Side Of Love [2]
Category: Arctic Monkeys, Last Shadow Puppets
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Sequel, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, description of poor mental health, milex - Freeform, she's slow and she's kind of sad but she'll find her way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26652550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sp00kz/pseuds/sp00kz
Summary: Part 2 of Wrong Side Of LoveAlex tries to navigate around the Miles shaped void in his life.
Relationships: Miles Kane/Alex Turner
Series: Wrong Side Of Love [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1939234
Comments: 16
Kudos: 44





	If Broken Hearts Could Talk (Mine Would Say, I Told You So)

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is, finally! 
> 
> I had planned on this being Alex's side of the story from the start, but not in the way it turned out.  
> If you're looking for an exciting plot, I'm sorry to disappoint you. This one's a bit more focused on emotions, self-reflection, and internal struggles.
> 
> Very Alex centric.
> 
> Also, you may notice I've messed with the chronology of some events, but for the most part, I've tried to keep it as canon-compliant as possible without losing my head trying to force shit in.
> 
> Also, I feel like I need to give a disclaimer for this one that I obviously don't know these guys, or what they're really like. This is purely a work of fiction conjured by my hyperactive sleep deprived brain. This is in no way an insinuation or suggestion of what their character and personalities are like irl blah blah blah
> 
> Okay, that's enough yapping from me. Enjoy!

**"Still got pictures of friends on the wall. I suppose we're not really friends anymore..."**

The pristine ivories had started merging with the black keys to the point where he could no longer tell where one began and the other ended. He took that as a cue to stop for now.

A chuckle escaped him. Reverberating through the otherwise quiet, empty room, it sounded rather sinister to his own ears. 

Oh, what would his fans that worshiped him think if they saw him now, eh? The great Alex Turner. Greasy long hair, shaggy, unkempt beard, eyes unfocused, and swimming with the ghosts of his past in copious amounts of alcohol, hunched over, trying to write the next record of the year. 

What a joke.

Gently tracing the keys of his magnificent grand piano, he suddenly felt too small and puny, too...defeated. But he couldn’t bring himself to get up and leave, to so much as take a short break and do something else.

He needed this. He needed the piano to anchor him to the ground. To anchor him to this world. 

He needed to keep forming phrases and stories set to melodies to make sense of it all. To make sense of his new reality. To mould himself into a world that had a Miles Kane shaped gaping hole bang at the center of it. A world where Miles was not a call, or a text away. A world devoid of his voice, his laughter, his comforting touch, and his bubbling energy. 

Or maybe he needed to create another world to escape it all. One far away. Perhaps on the moon, he quipped to himself.

When the room joined in on the spinning action, Alex figured it was time to hit the bed. The rest of the song would just have to wait. He sighed and stood up, taking a moment, or five to steady himself. He managed to make it all the way to his bedroom unharmed, only to crash onto his bed, letting the soft down-filled mattress break his fall. No sooner had his body touched down than he was already drifting off to sleep, his last thought being that the bed of his was appallingly big for just one person to be sleeping on.

The buzz of his phone ripping through the silence jolted him out of his slumber.

It was the same ringtone as when he got the device - neither did he know how to change it, nor could he be bothered to learn- but now, the sound felt oddly strange to him. It wasn’t a sound he heard very often these days. No one had tried reaching him in a while, and it was a result of his own doing. 

Turns out people will, in fact, stop trying to contact you if you persistently ghost them.

He brought his phone to his face, squinted at the offensively bright screen, and quickly gave up trying to read the name of the caller. 

“‘ello,” he croaked.

“Alex?” The familiar voice sounded taken aback. “Didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”

“Then why’d you call?” The ringtone wasn’t the only sound he hadn’t heard in a while. He cringed at the hoarseness of his voice.

The man on the other end, however, wasn’t phased. 

“Thought I’d give it a shot anyway, eh?” 

“What do you want?” It came out harsher than he had intended it to.

“Listen, er...a bunch of us are meeting up tonight. Nothing big, just the lads and a couple of others. Just to, you know, catch up, get a few pints…erm..do you fancy coming along?”

Alex felt a pang of guilt at Matt’s hesitation. It only made him all the more aware of what a terrible friend he’d been these past few weeks, or was it months? He had stopped keeping track a while ago. As bad as he felt, it wasn’t enough to make him give in to the invitation.

It wasn’t that he didn't want to meet his mates, he just didn't think he could bear to leave his house.

For as long as he had been hiding out, the walls of his house had given him a sense of sheltered comfort that he had gotten perhaps a bit too reliant on. To the point where it felt like they had merged onto him like an exoskeleton, and he didn't know if he could survive outside it.

“I’d love to Matt, but-”

“It’s alright, no need to rack your brain for an excuse,” Matt cut him off. Alex didn't miss the icy tinge to his normally flippant drawl. 

“It’s just, there was something I had to talk to you about, as well.”

Before Alex could fill his lungs with enough air to belt out a protest, Matt continued, “-and before you say you’re alright, it’s not about that. Believe it or not, I actually do have a life outside of worrying about you.”

Now that did sting, even if he thought he deserved it.

“Erm, how about you come by here for a bit?” he asked, rubbing his sleep worn eyes. 

“Really? Yeah sure,” Matt said quickly, as if he thought Alex might change his mind. “ I’ll see you at around five then?”

  
  
This time it was a persistent buzzing of a different kind that woke him. Alex wasn’t sure when he dozed off again, or if the whole phone conversation had just been a dream, until he had managed to move all the way across his house and open the front door to be met with the cheery face of one Matt Helders. 

His friend’s smile, however, faltered when he caught sight of the figure that met him. Alex could only imagine how run down he looked. He wasn't exactly active, of late, when it came to maintaining his appearance. As it happens, when it's just you and your shadow day in and day out, the motivation for grooming isn’t quite at its peak.

“Wow, you look grim!” Matt tried to make light of it, but the veiled concern in his voice did not escape Alex.

“Just woke up actually,” he supplied weakly. 

Stepping out of the way, he let Matt into his living room. “Come on in then.”

His fingers tapped on the cool wet surface of the bottle. His eyes were downcast, intently following the different coloured yarn that meandered through his carpet.

Sitting in silence, across from his friend of over twenty-five years, Alex couldn’t recall another time he’d felt this unsettled around the other. He was once again confronted with just how much he had let distance and silence fester between them, to the point where he couldn’t even bring himself to meet the other’s eyes, let alone carry on having a conversation.

Besides, what do you even say to someone when they tell you they’re getting a divorce when you, their supposed best mate, hadn’t bothered to keep up with them to even have an inkling that they were headed that way?

There were those guilt pangs again.

All of a sudden, his thoughts wandered to a plump little girl with soft chestnut curls and a shrill gurgling laughter, whose face looked a lot like Matt’s when she scowled.

“Shit. How’s Amelia?” He asked.

The mention of his daughter brought a fond smile to Matt’s face.

“Oh, she’s good. She’s got enough energy to power a small village,” he laughed. “Starts school soon. Breana is sure glad for it.” He paused, picking at the label on his bottle.

“We..erm... we haven’t told her. Not sure she’ll understand just yet.”

Alex nodded. He wanted to ask Matt if she remembered him, but he didn’t want to hear the answer. He hadn’t seen her in months or even so much as called to ask after her. Some uncle he was.

As if reading his mind, Matt added softly, “You should visit. She would love to see you.”

Alex nodded again.

“Hey, Matt listen… I’m really sorry for the way I’ve been-”

“It's alright mate, I know.” His friend comforted him. 

But the words only made him want to sink into the cushions. Here was Matt comforting _him_ while breaking the news of his divorce. He almost wished Matt would shout at him, call him out on his self centeredness, or even throw a punch.

Instead of voicing any of that, what he did say was, “welcome to the broken hearteds’ club then, I suppose,'' clapping Matt’s back, in a weak attempt to defuse the tension.

“Don’t you mean the jaded hearts club?”

“Don’t.”

“Too soon?”

  
  
  
  
“I’m glad you made it Al,” said Jamie, patting his back.

“Erm yeah...it’s been a while, hasn’t it?” He forced a tight smile.

Matt had managed to coax him out of his self-imposed house arrest after all.

Alex shouldn’t really be surprised, because he’d been doing it since they were kids. Over the years Matt had mastered the skill of dealing with him when he sank into the quicksand pits of his own mind’s creation. The man just knew when to leave him alone, and when to pull him out. 

Matt was a good one. 

He had decided that when he was six. 

A bunch of bullies teased him mercilessly about a poem he wrote for class, one that he had been particularly proud of.

The teacher stuck a gold star on it, and he beamed as if he had swallowed one.

But it had soon ended up on the ground, its shine dimmed by the muddy sludge that soaked into the crumpled paper. 

Matt had been there, standing up to the three boys twice his size, defending his friend, and after they left him alone, trying to salvage his pride and joy. _It’s just a bit of mud, Al_. He had said holding up the pitiful page and smoothening it out. _Look_ , _good as new._

Sometimes he felt like Matt had taken it upon himself to smooth out all his crinkles ever since.

The Alex that returned from the puppets tour could not have been more different from the one that had left for it. He had come back feeling spent and hollow, like his insides had been ripped out of him, leaving behind nothing but a shriveling husk. The cold emptiness of the house that welcomed him had only made it worse.

He managed three full days of wallowing in it before Matt came over with food and a shoulder.

He hadn’t meant to, but he found himself pouring his heart out. He told him everything, and Matt listened. 

And after, Alex let himself be pulled into a warm hug. 

He had broken down, knowing that his friend’s embrace would hold him together. 

Alex knew he was a good one because he hadn’t brought it up since. He had simply let him mope in his cocoon until he thought Alex was ready to face the world again.

Matt was the only one who knew. Well, he and Taylor. Except, she had broken up with him, and as a parting gift left him with a slap across his face, one that had given him the kind of aching jaw he wasn’t used to.

  
That’s how he found himself sitting in a pub, nursing a beer, trying not to draw any attention to himself. But because his day was determined to not make things easy for him, it happened to be a busy one. The small space was packed with bodies, and chatter of different decibels and octaves, and it did nothing to ease his mind. 

The moment he stepped in, he was hit with the urge to go back home and seek the comfort of his bed, to crawl under his duvet, and just hide there. 

It had been so long since he had been out and around other people that the bodies swimming around him felt alien and strangely unnatural. Like if he looked close enough, he might be able to catch strings attached to them, pulling at their limbs.

His gaze fixed on the half torn label of his beer bottle, Alex felt himself slowly tugging away from the weight of his own body that was anchored to the less than comfortable chair.

“We’ve all been worried about you.” Nick’s voice jerked him back to reality.

The table went quiet, and all attention was drawn to him. He didn’t like that at all.

He didn’t know how to respond to that. ‘Don’t be. I’m fine,’ felt disingenuous. ‘Thank you,’ felt too patronizing. So he just settled on a thin smile, before taking another swig of his beer.

“How’s the writing going?”

He knew Nick was just trying to change the topic to keep the conversation flowing, but the question only made the quilt that was draped over his bed feel more inviting.

"It’s...going. I can’t say I have much yet.”

“That’s all right. You’ll get there.”

And he’d heard that a lot. Told himself that a lot. _You’ll get there. You’ll make it out of this hole. You’ll get over it._ And he was still waiting on it. 

***

The music thumped through him, the beats entwining with the beats of his heart to create a sort of polyrhythm as he closed his eyes and let it wash over him. He leaned against the railing of the VIP area, and idly scanned the dancefloor below. The strobe lighting that blinked erratically made the bodies in motion look almost ethereal. 

His eyes occasionally landed on familiar faces in the crowd, some were pressed against strangers, their bodies making unsaid promises for the night, others were dancing, lost in the music, and some were flailing their limbs around more than dancing, too far gone to be conscious of their moves, let alone be embarrassed. But they all seemed to be having fun. 

A lazy smile adorned his face as he watched and sipped his drink.

Once Matt had done it and emerged unscathed, it was as if his friends had gotten some kind of a green light to force him out of his haven every chance they got.

_You really need to get out more Al. Cooped up all alone like this, no wonder you’re not getting any writing done._

He would have been just as happy cooped up alone, twiddling aimlessly with his piano. But he had to admit, begrudgingly so, that it did somewhat help. With every outing he felt a little more alive, like little bits of his old self were being restored in him.

On some days he felt himself plunge back into the sinkhole, overcome with exhaustion trying to claw his way out of it. On those days he’d make quick apologies and flee the scene, hurrying back to the comfort of his too-big bed. But on most days he’d find the will to power through, and even find himself almost enjoying it. Or at least successfully feigning it.

He didn't particularly enjoy clubbing. Too many people, too loud, too many people.

But he went along anyway, because loud noises had a way of drowning the noises in one’s head. 

That, and it was a more socially acceptable way of getting plastered than drinking alone in an empty home.

“You looking to pull tonight Al? It’s been a while since you broke up with that bird of yours, innit.” It was Steve, one of their sound engineers, and one of the few people he didn't particularly like calling him by his nickname as if they were old chums. They weren’t. And Alex had no inclination to change that.

“Don’t think so, mate,” he said, and went back to sipping his Whiskey Ginger, slightly turning away from the other man in the hopes that he’d take the hint, and find someone else to chit-chat with. It didn't work. 

“Oh come on, live a little! Where’s your rockstar spirit, eh?” he guffawed, and slapped his back with so much force that Alex only just about managed to keep himself from stumbling forward. 

“Maybe I could help you out. A little something to loosen you up?”

Alex took a moment to study the other’s slimy self-important grin, his slicked-back hair, and his hand that suggestively patted the pocket of his leather jacket that was two sizes too small for him, and he thought of Miles. 

How, if Miles was here, he would have found a way to take the piss out of him to his face without the other man even catching on. And he thought of how they’d have spent the rest of the night sporadically laughing about it, long after the joke had gone stale.

But Miles wasn’t here. Miles was never here. Not when he was out with his mates, not when he thought of something funny, not when he needed help with a tune, or needed a melody to set his words to, and especially not when he needed a friend.

He hated that his insolent thoughts had yet again wandered to Miles the way they did too often these days, and that was enough for him to make his choice. 

He nodded and followed the other to a more secluded part of the club.

***

Apart from illicit drug transactions, clubs were also, as it turned out, great places for finding eager bodies to fill emotional voids with.

Meaningless sex was what got him into this mess in the first place so he figured it might perhaps get him out of it.

He didn’t count on it.

Truth be told, Alex just craved to feel again. To feel something other than listlessness and sinking desolation.

To feel something good, even if it was synthetic and manufactured, and came in baggies, or in designer outfits.

This time it came in the shape of a beautiful blonde with legs for days, and an equally pretty guy with rock-hard abs and absurdly white teeth, who may have been her boyfriend.

He couldn’t remember.

He led them directly into his bedroom, not wasting any time with polite preliminaries like offering drinks or making small talk. 

He had done that the first few times, but he couldn’t be arsed anymore. It almost felt like a drill at this point. Like muscle memory, a familiarity induced by repetition. 

He watched as the nameless girl settled against the headboard before unbuttoning her blouse slowly, teasingly running her fingers over each button before popping them off. The soft amber lighting danced in her pale hair, making it glimmer like it was alight.

_Not in a million years did he think his friendship with Miles, if he could even call it that anymore, would ever see this faith._

He felt the man come up behind him. His arms, nearly twice the size of his own, roamed his chest while he kissed his neck.

"Like what you see?" the man whispered directly into his ear as he started unbuttoning Alex’s shirt, taking his time with each one, letting his fingers linger on exposed skin as he went.

_What they had, had been special. The once in a lifetime kind of special, even when it was just friendship. Even before they recklessly tested its limits._

The man licked a strip from his jaw to his ear.

_But he just had to go get greedy._

He took his lobe between his teeth, making Alex’s head fall back onto the other’s shoulder and his eyelids slam shut.

_Maybe that was his first mistake, thinking their bond was indestructible. Thinking he could bend it, and stretch it, and push their limits without breaking it._

"Come here, you two. Don't leave me out of the fun," she giggled, invitingly spreading her legs wide.

 _And now all he had to show for it were the shattered pieces_ _that he carried with him wherever he went. Shards that he just couldn’t shake off. No matter what he did, they clung to him, constantly cutting him, making him bleed, lacerating his insides._

Long manicured nails beckoned him closer. And like a snake drawn to its charmer’s tunes, he slithered to the space she had made for him, letting her pull him closer, barricading him within the walls of her slender frame.

_Miles. Miles. Miles._

Her face, _his_ _eyes_ , her voice, _his_ _laugh_. Her lips, _his_ _kisses_.

He felt the weight of the man press against his back, and the pair of strong arms move to completely rid him of his shirt.

 _His_ face, _his_ arms, _his_ smell, _his_ cock.

***

“I think you need some sleep, Al.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“You look dead.”

“But I feel so alive,” he replied, shaking his friend by his shoulders.

Jamie brought his face close to his, as if trying to speak directly to his brain through the windows of his eyes.

“You’re high,” he concluded.

“I am.”

“What happened to your hand?”

He blinked at the other incredulously until Jamie looked down. Alex followed his gaze all the way to his bandaged index finger.

“Accident involving an Xacto knife,” he muttered. “Those things are sharper than they look.” 

“Xacto knife?”

“I’ve been crafting,” he said, like it should have been obvious.

“I’m sorry, crafting?”

He shrugged. “I had an idea.”

His friend sighed resignedly. “Care to share?”

“All in good time, mate.” he winked at Jamie, but the other man only continued to regard him carefully. Alex felt himself shrivel under his scrutiny. He hoped that his eyes didn’t actually look as manic as the ones of the stranger’s he had been staring into in the bathroom mirror for thirteen minutes straight. Because he knew that would only set his friends off, fussing over him again. 

So what if he was hyper focused, and hadn’t slept in two days, and was running on a combination of cocaine, cigarettes, and pot noodles? At least he was running. At least he was writing, and at least he wasn’t moping over a certain scouser with a buzzcut whose hair wasn’t even short anymore. It had grown and grown, and it was now almost as long as his own, in a way that made him look nothing like the best mate of his memories.

His head was swimming with ideas knocking into each other, sometimes absorbing, sometimes destroying one another, and he needed to get them all out, to let them breathe on the sprawling lines of his notepad. 

And when that didn’t seem enough, onto cardboard. 

He just needed to give them life in the hopes that in return, they might breathe some life into him too.

***

The first time Alex met Miles was a blur. 

He was too focused on Miles’s bandmate, their frontwoman. She had bright copper eyes unlike he had ever seen, and pretty dark hair that she swooshed off her shoulders when she spoke to him. 

He wrung his fingers and stumbled over his words as he tried to chat her up. He wasn’t usually this nervous around girls, but something about the way her molten eyes bore into him made him forget what words were, or how they were supposed to be used. But she was patient with him, smiling and nodding indulgently in a way that said she was used to getting guys tongue-tied.

She seemed to be warming up to him, leaning in to whisper something in his ear, when Miles joined them with a big grin that displayed his crooked teeth in all their glory, and a cheerful "hi", completely oblivious to how he was interrupting something.

"You're Alex Turner, right? I'm Miles."

"Hi Miles,” he said, throwing him a disinterested glance. “ Nice to meet you," he added mechanically. But he didn’t really mean it, because this Miles was in his way, and Alex couldn’t wait for him to leave them alone.

The second time Alex took notice of Miles was an hour later, when little flames were on stage opening for them. 

Alex decided to watch them from the wings, mostly because it gave him an excuse to scope the lead singer. But he hadn't managed more than a few glances at her, because all his attention was hogged by the lead guitarist. 

Miles was playing like his hands were created for this. He was so lost in the music, Alex thought he might actually be getting high on it, if the serene smile that adorned his face was any indication. Miles was not on the stage anymore, Alex realised, he wasn’t even on this planet anymore. And Alex was transfixed by the sight.

Alex liked making music. But most of what had led him to where he was, had been incidental. They started a band because they thought it would be a laugh. He learned to play the guitar because he needed an instrument to write songs to. He fronted the band because their lead vocalist backed out. 

Alex made music because he liked writing music, and he happened to be good at it.

But not Miles. Watching Miles play made Alex feel like he was born to do just this: to be on stage, to have a guitar attached to him. It was as if the guitar was a part of him too, an extension of his body.

He had never seen someone play like that in person. And he just couldn't stop looking.

Alex approached him after the show, and he found himself inexplicably nervous, almost as much as he had been talking to the girl. if he was worried about how Miles might respond to him, given the way he had dismissed him the first time around, he needn’t have, because Miles had greeted him just as enthusiastically as before. He had even agreed to show Alex the chords to one of their songs when he asked, and Alex had barely been able to contain the smile that threatened to split his face.

The first time he hung out with Miles, just them, they did what they did best together, they made music. 

It had started off as just a jam session where Miles strummed some chords and made up silly rhymes as he went, and Alex supplemented lines now and then, stringing words together till they somehow had a half decent song that they hadn't meant to create. One that was drowned by their laughter, and forgotten within hours under the weight of everything else Alex chose to remember from that day. Like how his and Miles’ voices complemented each other so well, or how they had similar taste in music, and a freakishly similar upbringing. How Miles’ melodies pulled out lyrics from his mind that he didn't even know were there, or how the guy had a way of making Alex laugh in a way that he didn’t know he could, in a way that was almost painful. And how, on that day, Alex just knew that he wanted to keep him.

***

"Are you even listening to me? Oi Alex!"

He was now.

But everything that the other had said up until then had lost out to the rather more interesting sight of a fight between a cab driver and a pedestrian that was going on right across the street from the cafe. He couldn’t make out what was being said, but from the looks of it, the cab driver seemed to be winning.

"How long is this going to go on for?"

Alex forced his gaze onto his friend and then busied himself stirring his coffee. He then took a slow reinforcing sip before finally answering.

"I don't know what you're on about, mate. I've written all eleven songs, we'll start recording soon. I'm in top form."

"I'm not talking about the damn album and you know it."

He did. 

"You need to talk to him." 

He fleetingly considered pretending like he didn't know who Matt was talking about but found himself too exhausted to keep up the ruse.

"He doesn't want to talk to me." 

"Then make him. I'll phone him right now if I have to."

"Mathew Helders, don't you dare!" He warned as the other threateningly reached for his phone. 

"There really is nothing to say. We’ve gone over this. I can't give him what he wants, and clearly what I can isn’t good enough for him. He’s made it very clear that he doesn’t want anything to do with me. And that’s that. Besides, it’s been more than a year now, and it doesn’t matter anymore."

"It doesn’t matter anymore,” Matt repeated in what Alex assumed was supposed to be an impression of him, a poor one at that. “Oh for fuck’s sake Alex! You can be right dense sometimes!

"Did you tell him how you really feel? Did you tell him why you _think_ you can't be with him?"

And he really didn't like where Matt was going with this. 

His friend was starting to edge too close to the minefield that he had been trying to barricade off for the better part of the year since he’d come upon it, and Matt seemed all too determined to trudge it.

"Because I don't feel the same way?"

"No, because you're a bloody coward with issues, and that sodding head of yours is a labyrinth that you’re trapped in."

"Matt..."

"I don't know if you’re deliberately playing dumb, or if you’ve really deluded yourself into believing otherwise, but you love him. Like I haven't seen you love anyone else. And no, not just as a mate. Look at you, you’ve been bloody miserable without him. And the sooner you come to terms with that, the sooner you can start doing something about it."

And there it was. The thing he had hoped Matt wouldn't get at. But he had to go and step right on that mine. 

And he had said it so easily, like it hadn’t been weighing on Alex’s heart like a truckload of bricks, dragging it down, for months.

Not that he had expected him to be any less blunt, because Matt was nothing if not straightforward. And on any other day that wasn't today, it was something he greatly appreciated.

"I'm just worried about you Al,” he continued, much more gently. “You're always too hard on yourself."

How could he explain to Matt that it wasn’t that he didn’t love Miles, but that he couldn’t allow himself to? Because sometimes it wasn’t as simple as just loving someone. 

* * *

**"There are things that I just cannot explain to you. And those that I hope I don't ever have to."**

It was the part of him that he worked very hard to keep locked up. 

In his most vivid nightmares, it looked a lot like a green monster with sharp claws, glowing red slits for eyes, and teeth the size of butchers’ knives, dripping with sticky saliva, snarling at him from behind bars.

It tried to reach out, to lure him in, to drag him into its cage, and feast on his carcass. 

He always found himself too close to the cage in his dreams. Sometimes, he felt himself running without really moving. 

He’d push himself to go faster, his breath would turn laboured and dry until it felt like his lungs were filled with sand, his knees would get wobbly, and his vision would start blurring, but the feeling of urgency in his gut to get away would only get worse.

He’d look over his shoulder to find that he hadn’t moved even an inch, and the monster, behind bars though it may be, was still too close, sneering at his pathetic attempt to get away. 

_You can cage me you fool, but you can never escape me, you can never outrun me._

This creature was Alex’s dirty little secret, the dark side of his moon, his evil twin.

But he had found ways to shackle it. Every facade he carefully constructed, all the personas and the masks, were nothing but ruses for all those who get too close for comfort. Far more pleasing and easier to love than his _real_ self. 

Because whenever anyone did have the misfortune of getting around the veil, it had ended up being too much for them. They had ended up leaving.

All the women that swapped their hearts for his, they had all meant a great deal to him, and he had loved them all. But ultimately he had gone and fucked them all over.

It was as if after a while, he just couldn’t stand to be loved. Or rather, stand to be the guy they loved. 

It was as if he’d get too comfortable in the act, and eventually, he’d get tired of holding up his defenses, and the selfish, sinister, ugly, _real_ him would claw its way out of the mask he had so carefully fixed. 

***

It was the inevitability of it, and the awareness of said inevitability that didn't faze him when it happened. 

The broken look on Miles's face when Alex had closed that hotel room door all those months ago still haunted him. The memory of that face had, on many occasions, been the only deterrent that kept him from just picking up his phone and calling the other when he craved him so badly it made him wonder if he might have been unwittingly addicted to the man. It was also the reason he had actively avoided the other. He didn't think he could endure it if he was faced with that look again. He knew Miles had been avoiding him too.

But they'd always been something akin to little asteroids with crisscrossing orbits, destined to cross paths at some point or the other. Their lives were just too intertwined for their little game of hide-and-no-seek to go on endlessly. Friends, family, gigs, festivals, award shows, charities, the list of points of collision were endless. And that is how Alex found himself at one of these points- Cam’s wedding reception- destined to spend the night chatting, drinking, dancing, showering the happy couple with good wishes, all while being painfully aware of the scoucer’s presence in his periphery. 

If Miles noticed him, he didn’t give any indication of it. The few times Alex had been unable to fight the urge to look his way, he had found Miles laughing and making conservation completely oblivious to, or at least unaffected by, his presence.

Alex hoped his own demeanor was just as cool, but if the worried glance that Matt threw him the second his best mate spotted Miles was any indication, it probably wasn’t.

“Will you be okay?” he had asked when everyone else was out of earshot.

Alex had simply nodded, and reached for his liquid courage.

The night’s cool breeze caressed his face as it carried away the clouds of smoke he released into the night. He tugged at the collar of his shirt and leaned against the wall, regretting not wearing a jacket. He could hear the muffled sound of the party still going on in full swing inside, and if he closed his eyes and focused on it, he could almost feel the thumping of the bass through the wall.

And really it was bound to happen sooner or later.

“Oh..sorry! I didnt know you...er...anyone was here.” Miles corrected himself, his legs taking an automatic step back, ready to take him back into the safety of the crowd inside, away from Alex.

“It’s alright. I’m almost done.” He looked away, fixing his eyes on the smouldering tip of his cigarette as he took a long drag to drive in his point.

It really had been inevitable, but the fact that it should happen in an alley felt like unnecessarily cruel irony. This had been their home turf, places like this, alleys, loos, nooks, and crannies, any place that was shrouded in darkness and secrecy. The only places that were kind to their missteps. The only places they could be closer than their bodies permitted. And yet, here they were now, a continent’s worth of distance wedged between them.

Miles shifted from foot to foot, perhaps contemplating if he should leave or stay, but ultimately settling on the latter. He sighed and leaned against the weathered brick wall, pulling out a cigarette of his own.

The awkwardness that hung in the air felt thicker than the smoke, and it burned his lungs just the same. In Spite of it, Alex was overcome with the urge to hold onto every tick of the clock.

The fact that Miles was willing to stand in the same space as him again, even if it was in complete silence was, in itself, encouraging.

If Alex were an open and forthright person, he’d have sung Miles a song of apology, asked him about his life in the past year, asked him for forgiveness, and the chance to start all over again. And if he was a good enough conversationalist, he might have filled the silence with meaningless small talk: the weather and the party, the food and the state of the government. But as it happens, he was neither, and Alex could only stand there breathing in the tension suspended in the air, and feel it weigh down on his vocal cords. 

Beside him, Miles fidgeted, and then with a determined huff pushed himself off the wall to face Alex. His insides were lit with a spark of hope that the other might say something, but if Miles had planned on it, he seemed to change his mind, wrapping his lips around his cigarette instead and taking a drag.

He found the whole thing surreal. But even more so, frustrating. This was just so unlike them.

Talking to Miles used to come to him as easily as the English language itself, and now here they were, standing just a few inches apart, after months of no contact, and they couldn’t manage to string two words together to say to the other.

Alex wanted nothing more than to reach out. 

And in a moment of impulsive courage, he did. Because maybe, just maybe, what he couldn’t say with words, he could communicate in other ways. 

But for all his boldness, he was far less confident than he'd have liked to be. He gingerly placed his fingers on Miles’ belt buckle and played with the button of his shirt that was just above it. Testing the waters.

"Alex.." There was a warning in his voice, but Miles wasn't swatting his hand away, or shoving him off.

And then he couldn't stop himself, the way he could never stop pushing his luck when it came to Miles. 

He spread his fingers across Miles’ stomach and pushed closer. Under his touch were unfamiliarly stiff muscles where he used to find pliancy. It only reminded him just how much time had passed, and how much had changed between them in that time.

He took a step closer, and when he didn’t feel Miles back away, he pressed his lips against the other’s. Miles didn't respond. And because Alex had no self-control, and he couldn’t stop taking, he tried to pry the other’s lips apart with his tongue.

Touching was easier than talking. He never did well with confrontation. Particularly with Miles. Miles and he had never fought before. Not like this. He didn’t know how to navigate through that. But this, this felt like falling into step. This is what they did. This is what they had always done.

And then, as if confirming his thought, he was being pushed till his back hit the wall, and his mouth was being invaded by the other. Rough and hungry, and Alex matched every bit of it.

Miles tasted like he remembered, of cigarettes and something distinctly Miles. 

It felt familiar. It felt nostalgic. It felt comforting.

Like coming back to your childhood home after a while, and breathing in the smell of home that only reveals itself to you when you’ve been away from it. And Alex breathed in as much of it as his lungs could hold.

"I've missed this," he moaned.

Miles jerked away as if awakening from a trance.

"I can't believe I let you fuck with me again!" he said. His words were laced with frustration, and he sounded more like he was scolding himself than speaking to Alex.

“Nothing’s changed has it?” he said. Giving a mirthless laugh he added, “I should have fucking known.”

Of course, Alex had said the wrong thing. His mouth had a way of doing that.

Always betraying him. Forever his enemy.

What he had meant to say was, _I miss you_! He hadn’t meant to jump him like that. He had wanted to genuinely reach out, but this had been easier, and he had been weak.

But of course, nothing was the same.

And Miles should have known that dammit! Should have been able to hear what he wasn’t saying, should have been able to read his mind like he used to. Instead here he was, thinking that all he was to Alex was a means to a pleasurable end. Did he really believe that Alex thought that little of him? Surely he couldn't. But his answer was written all over the scouser’s face. 

“Miles, listen…”

“No Alex, you listen! If you ever cared for me, just do me a favour and please, just let me be,” Miles replied, almost pleading.

“Don’t call me.” He walked back inside as if he wasn’t dragging Alex’s world along after him, leaving a trail of his composure that had taken months to repair, shattered on the floor.

Because in that moment, the way Miles had looked at him was exactly how he had feared, how he had hoped he never would. With hurt and revulsion.

Alex raked his fingers through his hair and slid down against the wall, wondering how he had managed to fuck it up with the same person, in the same way, twice.

The air felt thick and his heart felt heavy. And it hurt.

It didn't hurt like the time one of his guitar strings snapped and made his brow bleed, just missing his eye. He had watched the blood smeared on the tips of his fingers with disconnected interest and traced the wound every day until it had waned into a smooth scar. 

And it didn’t hurt like the time he had broken his ankle as a kid when his friends had challenged him to jump off a particularly tall tree that he had managed to climb.

Rather, it hurt like waking up from a beautiful dream and feeling anguish wash over you along with the realization that it had just been a dream. And you hopelessly try to fall back asleep, to force yourself back into something you know doesn't exist, something that’s lost forever.

It hurt like desperation and despair entwined together.

  
  
One week later, he had himself a shiny new girlfriend.

He could feel the disapproval permeate him from all sides the first time he told his friends about her. 

“I’m not trying to blow you off. I just have other plans.”

“Don't think sitting alone and drinking yourself into a stupor counts as plans, mate.” He knew his friends meant well, but their concern was starting to feel unbearably stifling.

“I have plans with my girlfriend if you must know.”

“Oh.”

“You have a new girlfriend?” Alex fought to keep from snorting at Jamie’s attempt at keeping the inquiry casual.

Matt, on the other hand, didn’t so much as try masking his wariness. He squinted at him accusingly with his hands on his hips looking a lot like a disappointed parent. And it only made Alex feel more defiant, like a rebellious adolescent.

“Yeah. Her name is Louise. You lot have met her. In Paris, remember?”

“Erm sure...didn’t know you were seeing her.” 

He gave a shrug in lieu of an explanation.

What was there to say anyway? That he didn’t know how to be single? That he was the kind of pathetic that didn’t know what to do with himself if he didn't belong to someone? That he was petrified of loneliness and his own company? That he was trying his best to fill the irreparable void Miles had left in the only way he knew how?

Even if he knew it wouldn’t last, he couldn’t stop trying. Because that would mean giving up. And he couldn’t allow himself that. Not when he had gotten so close to its edge

and pulled himself back. 

And after what had happened, he needed this to find his footing. To feel in control of himself again. To not feel like a floating bubble that might burst from the slightest wisp of air. 

He just needed someone to stand between the wind and him.

***

Alex watched the snow stack up on the window sill like tiny little fluffy Tetris. 

He loved the weather in LA. Always sunny, always breezy, always amicable. Nothing like the soggy, dismal dreariness of England. 

He loved that he could just take his bike out for a spin even in the middle of January and not have to worry about turning into the next Ötzi the iceman.

But he missed the snow.

As much as he hated the cold, he loved snow and watching snowfall. Snowflakes, to him, in all their clean and pure delicate softness felt like confetti of the angels, if there was such a thing.

Of course that all changed when they met the earth and spent a few days getting acquainted with the mud, the muck, and the pollution. 

"Made you a cuppa, love."

He walked over to the sofa and dropped his weight next to his mother, before gratefully accepting the cup she handed him. They sipped their tea in silence for a while. His eyes wandered over the pictures that hung on the wall in front of him, while his mind played the scenes of their backstories one after the other.

"It's nice to be home for Christmas. Been a while, hasn't it?" he muttered, almost to himself. 

"It's always nice to have you home."

Some more time was spent with Penny just sipping her tea, letting him drink his own in peace, alone with his thoughts, before she prodded the calm that had settled around them.

"What's eating you son?"

"Just knackered, mum, from all the traveling.” He sighed and rubbed his eyes. “It's been a bit hectic in the studio as well."

His mother put a soothing arm around him. "Is it Miles?"

He felt his breath catch at her unexpected words. He was ready to protest, to deny it, and feign ignorance, but when he looked up, he found her smiling at him with so much patience and understanding, the way only mothers can, that he couldn’t bring himself to lie.

Instead, he sank down, laying his head on her lap, and pulling his legs up on the sofa. 

"Oh baby," she said, running her fingers soothingly through his hair. "What happened?"

 _He won't talk to me_. He wanted to pout like the petulant child he felt like he had transformed into all of a sudden.

Instead, he asked, "How did you know?" His voice barely above a whisper.

"Because I know my son."

He scoffed at her _mum response._

"Because you've just looked so sad since the moment you arrived. And you haven't mentioned him once, when usually you can’t shut up about him. Not to mention you’ve been acting all cagey every time I brought up his name. Did you two have a tiff?”

"It's all my fault."

"Does that mean you can't fix it?"

"I don't know if I can."

"But you know you can try."

"It’s not that simple,” he sighed, “There are things…. he won't understand."

"He won't if you don't give him the chance to."

"You don't even know what it is."

"With people, it's always the same, isn’t it? Half the hearts that suffer in this world could be put to rest with words. You just have to be brave enough to take the first step. Life is too short, my love, to be spent not talking to people if it can be helped.”

“It’s easier said than done.”

“I know. And I know how uncomfortable it makes you. You'd rather run and hide than face these things, always have been like that.” She patted his arm as she said it. He didn’t argue. Instead, he sighed and closed his eyes, waiting for her to go on.

“Opening yourself to hurt can be scary. But you can’t close people out because you're afraid of getting hurt. Vulnerability is never a weakness, love. In fact, It's what strengthens our bonds.”

"What if I'm a coward?"

"Oh darling, you're not a coward. A coward wouldn't have the courage to live life on his own terms, to pave his own way. A coward wouldn't have the courage to chase after his dreams the way you did, at such a young age too, just a little lad you were back then. And you haven’t stopped since."

And he knew she was somewhat right. 

He remembered a time when he felt far less cowardly. When his confidence was real, and not just a mask he put on. When he stood in the stuffy office of a record company, in front of suit-clad men with immaculately ironed shirts, business cards, and firm handshakes, looming over him and the lads, looking a lot like hungry vultures. He had been just a teenager then, but one that stood tall, one that knew his worth and that of his band's, self-assured and bold. 

He wondered sometimes what happened to that boy. The boy who wasn’t afraid to ask, to take, to love and be loved.

“It's never easy, but it's the only way. Open your heart and try to reach out. But. Alex, you need to forgive yourself first, before you can ask for forgiveness from others.”

He nodded, his eyes still firmly shut.

"I love you mum. I don't say it enough do I?"

He felt her lean down and kiss his hair.

"I love you too, darling."

His mind was racing and he tried to catch hold of it while he let the motion of his mother’s fingers in his hair, and the soft melody of the tune she hummed sooth him.

"Also Alex,” She went on, gently tugging at his locks, “you need a haircut." 

He groaned, pushing himself off her lap.

"I'm serious. What do you call this greasy mop? And don’t even get me started on that beard- "

He took that as a cue to leave before she brought in her kitchen scissors and offered to cut it herself like she had already done a couple of times.

"Night, mum.Thanks for the tea and the chat."

"I can ask Paul if he’ll make an appointment for tomorrow. He might not be a Hollywood hairstylist but he's a right good barber. "

"Good night mother!" he called, climbing up the stairs, already halfway to his childhood room.

At first, it had just felt like an uncomfortable pressure but then he became aware of the shape of it. A rope. Not around his neck, but against it, pulled taut, holding him down. The more he tried to lift his head, the more it choked him. That’s when he saw him. Miles.

He was hovering over him, smiling down at him. It was far too dark to make out much but he knew it was Miles. He’d know it anywhere: that face, that smile, that touch, for he was now gently caressing Alex’s face. 

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he was able to see him more clearly. And no, this wasn't Miles. Not his Miles. It was his face, but his eyes weren’t as bright, his lips weren’t as pink, and his cheeks weren’t creased with the lines that boasted of a life lived in joy.

This Miles’ face was smooth, and pale, and almost translucent, like frosted glass. His eyes were sunken and there was nothing but blackness in them, like the end of a cigarette butt crushed and left to disintegrate. Still and lifeless. Almost as lifeless is his smile. 

He said his name.

_Alex_

It was barely above a whisper. He wanted to respond, to let him know he heard him, but all he could muster was a wheezing huff of air.

_Alex_

This time it was louder. And that was how he knew it wasn’t Miles that was saying his name. The voice was a familiar growl, and it made his whole body lapidify with fear.

He felt Miles drift away from him, his smile now replaced with a frown, and Alex desperately wanted to tell him to stay, to not leave him alone with it. He tried to reach out, only to find it wasn't just his neck, but that his whole body was tied up.

He felt long grimy nails trace the side of his face. He closed his eyes as he saw the last of Miles dissipate into nothing. The nails dragged at his skin painfully. 

_Got him._

He felt panic rise from his stomach with bile. The nails dragged across his face, all the way from his temple to his mouth, and the dampness they left in their wake told him they were drawing blood.

They stopped when they reached his lips, and Alex felt a moment’s respite at the thought that it might be over now. But that’s only as long as the feeling of relief lasted, a moment. Before he could brace himself for the impact, a nail was being jabbed into his open mouth making him violently choke on it. His eyes flew open and he heaved like he had been holding his breath underwater. 

He sat up, his limbs caught in a tangled mess with the sheets, and his hands automatically felt around his neck for reassurance that it had, in fact, been just a nightmare.

It was all there, unharmed, unblemished, no rope burns or bruises, but on the inside, it felt dry and scratchy.

With shaky hands, he reached for the little carton on his nightstand and lit himself a smoke. The first drag sent a trickle of calm running down his spine, and it took a few more for him to stop hearing his heart hammering in his ears.

* * *

**"When true love takes a grip it leaves you without a choice."**

Sometimes he wondered when it started. When the cracks appeared, and when his heart started faltering. 

He tried to trace the fault lines to their origin. But how do you trace back a feeling?

Maybe it was the first time he got with Taylor after coming back from Malibu.

Looking back, If he wasn’t so dense, he might have taken that as an early warning sign right then. Because kissing her, he had felt, for the first time, something he had never felt before.

It was strange because he had been looking forward to their reunion for days. He had missed her presence and her touch. But from the second their lips met, an unsettling feeling pricked at the back of his head. Her lips were just as soft as he remembered, so was her hair. She smelled like she always did, her overly sweet Dolce perfume. 

But something was off. 

Like walking past a store every day to work, and never taking notice of it until one day something looks a bit different, a new awning perhaps, but you can’t put your finger on the change because you can’t remember what it looked like before. But the change is jarring, and it gnaws at you all the way.

Then it had hit him.

It had felt like it wasn't….enough.

And as if to drive the point home, his brain very helpfully supplied him with images of recent kisses he had shared, the all too familiar taste of another man's lips, the urgency with which he devoured him every time like it could be the last. 

Sometimes it made Alex giggle and he'd tell Miles to slow down, to which he'd respond with something cheesy like ‘I'm on a diet, baby, and you're my one cheat day.’

“What's funny?”

"Er...nothing...come here. I missed you."

And he kissed her passionately to rid himself of the taste that lingered on his tongue still. To replace it with the taste that rightfully belonged there.

He pulled her closer, running his hands down her supple skin, to overwrite the memory of the firm, very male body pressed against his own. 

He fucked her in earnest in an attempt to reset his own brain.

“Woah there tiger, slow down. I missed you too.”

  
  
  
  
Or maybe it was on that one day when they were still at Shangri la.

One that was stowed away in the part of his mind where everything he liked to pretend he didn't remember went.

They had had a long day of recording. Alex hadn’t been able to stop fussing over the chorus of the song they were working on, and it had taken all day to sort out. By the time they had gotten done, day had long since melted into night.

Alex from his place on the lounge chair watched as Miles climbed out of the pool. He might have even let his eyes linger a little longer than was considered polite. 

“You’ll catch a chill, swimming at night like this.”

“Alright, Mum,” Miles dismissed as he toweled himself dry.

Alex quickly averted his eyes, taking great interest in his rings when Miles, without warning, dropped his trunks to change into a pair of dry shorts.

“I’m serious,” he said to his rings. “You can’t be falling sick. We still have a lot of work left to be done.” 

Miles only made a face at him as he pushed off Alex’s legs to make room for himself. Alex was quick to reclaim his legs’ place, except now they were on Miles’s lap.

He absentmindedly twisted the heavy silver ring on his pinky, the one whose twin was wrapped around Miles’ little finger, as he watched the other crack his back and massage his neck, rather too dramatically if he were being honest.

Although he hadn’t intended on compromising his extremely comfortable position, his body seemed to move on its own accord.

“Come up here,” he relented with a sigh. “Plenty of room.” There wasn’t really. But it didn’t matter. They weren’t the most unfamiliar with sharing little confined spaces.

Miles didn’t need to be asked twice, because as soon as the words left Alex’s mouth and his body had shifted enough to accommodate the other, he was filling the space.

They sat like that for a while, in companionable silence listening to the distant sound of the ocean.

“It’s a nice night, isn’t it?”

Alex looked up at the clear sky that granted them a star-studded view. 

“Yeah,” he half spoke, half sighed. 

He was tired to the bone, perhaps even too tired to hold up the weight of his own head. And maybe that’s what made him drop it and rest it on the other’s shoulder. A firm hand circled around his back, and it only encouraged him to settle more comfortably, his body turned sideways, half of him draped on the other man.

A pair of soft lips gently brushed against his temple and he looked up, only to be caught off guard by a peck on his lips. He didn't have time to question it because it was quickly followed by a cheeky grin. The kind that said, he had managed to swipe something and get away with it, and he wasn’t the least bit sorry. It was the kind of smile that Alex would, for all of time, associate with Miles.

And if he had listened carefully then, he might have heard his heart falter.

But he had been too busy returning the kiss with interest and some, until the dire need for air forced them apart. Miles didn’t seem to have any intention of taking it further, and Alex realized, neither did he. But he still lingered, his lips close to Miles’, sharing huffs of breath and unspoken words.

They had fallen asleep soon after. Slowly slipping into unconsciousness, the image of the night sky and the taste of the other’s lips merged into one as they faded together into oblivion.

They had woken up to a clean slate as usual. The kiss went into their very own pandora’s box with everything else. 

It had been nothing really, compared to all the other shit they got up to. It was just a kiss. But it somehow felt like so much more. Because that was the thing, wasn’t it? They didn’t do just kissing. But he wasn’t willing to dwell on it at the time, and he didn't have to, because it had never been spoken of again.

He wondered how he could have been so blind to those glaring warning signs. 

But maybe he wasn't blind, and maybe he wasn't oblivious. Maybe he chose to not see. 

Maybe he blindfolded himself because his hold on his sanity was fragile enough. Maybe he didn't want his beast to get a glimpse of what he was most afraid of losing.

***

Alex wanted to write Miles a song.

Or write him a hundred songs.

He wanted to fill every page of his little notebook with those songs.

But not the kind of songs he wrote.

Alex was a storyteller, a wordsmith, a master of weaving exquisitely ornate ruses that were beautiful and interesting.

But those kinds of songs wouldn’t do, because that is all they were.

They were just….clever.

Because if you looked close enough, you would find that they led nowhere. 

He never left a breadcrumb trail that could lead them back to him.

Never got too personal. Never revealed too much of him in them.

He made sure of it.

He took comfort in it.

Because the songs were only his as long as he was writing them, only as long as they were locked in the safety of his diary. 

Once they put them out, they belonged to everyone.

But the incidents, the muses, the feelings, and the sleepless nights that hid just behind the words would forever be his and his alone to keep.

No, he wanted to write the kind of songs that Miles had filled his new album with.

The raw, open, honest kind.

He had listened to them all. 

Enough times to absorb every word into his bloodstream.

And now, he wanted Miles to hear him too.

He wanted to put all of himself into the songs, in the hopes that they would say the things that he didn’t know if he could bring himself to.

***

When he got the call, he wasn’t all that surprised because he had known Miles had a show coming up in Paris. Not because he was going out of his way to track the other’s every move. Just a force of habit. That’s as far as he was willing to analyze it.

Then again, maybe he was like a gambler, one that didn’t know when to quit, every loss only making him more hopeful that the next one might be the one where his luck changed. Maybe Miles had driven him to complete insanity after all, or maybe it was that eleven months had passed. 

Eleven months had gone by since his last encounter with Miles, and he was different now. He had shaved his head, his first anniversary was coming up, and he had bought a new house in Paris. He had shed his old skin like a snake, and now he was anew. The void had been filled the same way he did when every relationship ended, with another. 

Except,he had done all of it, and it still wasn't enough. Because eleven months had passed, and he still couldn't breathe. Sometimes he felt the damn beast’s clutches on his ribs so tight that he thought it might break them. And sometimes he hoped it did, because sometimes his ribs felt like a cage that was holding his lungs captive.

So, he might have let it slip through the grapevines of managers that he would be available if he was needed. 

It wasn’t him of course, it was his manager. Ever the professional. Wanted to know if Alex would be so kind as to join Miles on stage to sing a puppets song. The crowd would go wild, he had added, as if it needed saying, and as if he needed persuasion. He didn't know if this was Miles’s idea, although he doubted it. He just hoped he had agreed to it. The last thing he wanted was for Miles to kick him out of his show.

Because this time, Alex was a man on a mission. Eleven months had gone by, and he finally felt ready. He wanted Miles to know. He wanted him to understand. He wanted to strip back his masks and facades, even his skin and bones and sinew, and lay himself bare to the other.

Maybe if he could get it all off his chest, he could breathe again.

If the coldness with which Miles regarded him was any indication, he would say the other wasn’t completely on board. But he knew as well as anyone in show business knew: the show came first, and a surprise appearance from Alex would definitely be good for the show.

Miles’ manager greeted Alex with enough zeal to compensate for the other’s supposed rudeness. He shook his hand, patted his back, and showered him with praises of his new record, before leaving them alone, giving the scouser a pointed glare as he passed him by.

“Wanker,” Miles murmured under his breath, and Alex couldn’t help but smirk. He looked up to find a shadow of a smile playing around Miles’s lips, and for a second it felt as if everything would be fine. Because eleven months had gone by, and maybe Miles’ had found his composure too. 

Alex felt the speech he prepared nudge at the back of his throat. He'd been preparing it for days, thinking of all the things he would say to the other. All the ways in which he'd apologize and explain himself.

Contrary to popular belief, Alex wasn't great with his words, at least not when he had to speak them, least of all when he was put on the spot. So he planned and he practiced, carefully choosing his words in advance.

But when it came to it, all he could do was stand there fidgeting, opening and closing his mouth like a goldfish, and watching Miles mimic his uneasiness. The one song he had to perform, as agonizing as that was -sharing a mic, singing _their_ song- had come and gone too soon, and now here he stood, backstage, overcome with the awareness of time slipping through his fingers.

Alex was almost ready to let cowardice take the wheel, and drive him out of the place when a photographer came up to them, a massive camera that looked more like a weapon of mass destruction hanging from his shoulder, coaxing them into a passage for a few pictures. _The lighting there is groovy_ , he said. It was just as well to Alex. Something to do with his traitorous limbs.

Once the photographer got his shots, they were once again left to marinate in the awkward silence.

It felt eerily like the last time they had met, but this time, Alex swore to keep his damn hands to himself to avoid a repeat of that episode at any cost. He, instead, pushed his sunglasses further up his nose, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

“I met your girlfriend.” It was Miles who threw the first stone, shattering the silence.

Alex caught himself searching his voice for something, curiosity, contempt, bitterness, anything. But what he found sounded too much like indifference for his liking. 

“Seems nice.”

“She is.”

“You always did know how to pick ‘em.” And this time he was sure he heard a strain. Although it very well may have been his own wishful thinking.

“Miles...”

“I’m just trying to make small talk here. Don’t ruin it.”

Alex nodded. He could make do with small. As long as Miles was talking to him, he would grab onto any thread that gave him.

“That were a good set,” he said, trying to keep it light. 

“Thanks.”

For a moment it felt like they might actually be able to have a perfectly friendly moment. But like it always did, his mouth took it upon itself to ruin it.

“Look, Miles, would you like to go get a meal sometime?” He tripped over his words, desperate to get them out and keep them in at the same time, “Or you could come over? Louise cooks really well, and we could-”

“Alex, stop. I’m glad you’re doing well. I’m glad you’re happy. But let’s not pretend like it's all good between us.” 

He wanted to scream at Miles, no. He wasn’t happy because Miles had taken it all with him, every ounce of it that he had. And he had been trying, like a mad man, to scavenge whatever scraps of it he could from wherever he could, whoever he could, but it never quite fit him, it was never quite enough. 

Alex felt a familiar urgency churn in his stomach, the same kind he felt in his nightmares when he was trying to put distance between himself and the wrought iron bars of the cage. Like he had to spill his guts to the other, and he had to do it now.

He took Miles’s hands in his own, and to his surprise, Miles didn’t fight him.

“Miles, just listen to me, for once… I need to talk to you.”

“I don’t know what else there is left to say.”

The resigned whisper made him lift his gaze to meet the other’s. This was the first time he realized, in a long time, that he got to have a proper look at him.

His friend looked tired and much older than he remembered. His eyes looked weary, and his shoulders were slumped. He looked defeated in a way that Miles Kane just shouldn’t. In a way that felt just wrong. 

And the urgency was back. It was rising, bubbling up inside him like a cauldron.

“Please..let me explain.” He could hear how pathetic he sounded, and maybe Miles could too.

“Alright then, I’m listening.”

He took a deep breath, feeling overcome with exhaustion. As if he’d been running for the past two years, and only now had he realized it when he’d finally got to stop. 

When he said he had wanted to spill his guts, he hadn't meant to do it literally. 

But there he stood dry heaving as the rest of the contents of his stomach adorned the floor and parts of Miles' shoes.

“I am so sorry,” he apologized weakly. He might have felt mortified if he didn't have to focus all his attention on trying not to pass out.

“Fuck, Alex! Are you okay?”

Miles’s arms were quick to steady him as he helped Alex sit down, leaning against the wall.

Alex kept trying to mumble apologies, but Miles didn't seem to be listening. He brought a bottle of water and pushed it to his lips.

“Drink this. You'll feel better.”

He accepted it gratefully.

Miles made a move to stand up, but Alex yanked at his sleeve weakly.

“Please,” he croaked. “Please don't leave me now.”

When Miles spoke again, it made Alex want to sob, because it was the most gentle he’s been with him in years.

“I wasn't planning on it.”

“Listen…”

“Later, okay? Come on now, let's get you fixed up. You look like death warmed up.”

  
  
  
  
Miles inserted the key card in its slot, and the room came to life. 

It was messy. His clothes were carelessly strewn on the couch, over it, on the bed, even the floor. There was an amp in one corner, and next to it lay the guitar Alex had gifted him eons ago. Shoes that looked too expensive to be treated with such carelessness lay by the couch, spilling out of a box with tissue still in it. But all Alex saw was Miles. Miles in the brightly coloured clothes, Miles in the guitar, the shoes, and in the pair of suitcases on the far corner that resembled active volcanoes. The place looked and smelled of Miles. There was so much of Miles there, more than his senses had got to experience in the past two years, and he welcomed every bit of the barrage.

“Sorry the place is in a right state. I was in a hurry when I left,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry.

“What do you need?”

Alex could think of quite a few things right off the top of his head, all of which began with _You-,_ but settled on, “a toothbrush.”

Miles chuckled and pointed towards what was likely the bathroom.

“You can wash up, brush your teeth if you like,” he said as he took off his shoes by the door.

Alex walked into the bathroom and found the counter littered with bottles of different sizes and colours. His eyes fell on a small black bottle of cologne, the one Miles had worn for years, and he was hit with the urge to pick it up and breathe it in. He remembered the way it used to drive him crazy, drawing him in closer like the Pied Piper's tune when he had had one too many, and found the courage to bury his nose in Miles’s neck. He reached, instead, for the toiletry kit provided by the hotel, and pulled out the toothbrush from it.

He busied himself brushing his teeth, the minty taste of the toothpaste already making him feel far better than when he entered.

“You alright?” Miles enquired, poking his head in right as Alex was splashing his face with water.

“Yeah.” He toweled his face dry, and readied himself to apologize again, but was cut off by Miles.

“How are you feeling now?” he asked. Alex couldn’t help but notice how he was standing just outside the threshold, his hands on the bathroom door, shielding half his body.

“Much better, yeah. I think I were just too worked up.”

Miles nodded but didn’t ask him to elaborate. He stood there, still clutching his protective shield. Alex watched his eyes skitter to the bit of chest that was peaking through the undone buttons of Alex’s shirt for a millisecond, almost as if against his will, before he schooled it back to his face and then the floor.

“Right,” He huffed as if gathering himself, “Drink?” 

Alex nodded again.

“Gotcha.” Miles turned and left him alone.

Alex walked out to find Miles standing by the minibar, dropping ice into two glasses. He was struck by the familiarity of the scene, the hotel room, the distance between them, how they seemed to have circled back to where it all started. Or rather, where it all ended.

“You still drink Whiskey ginger?” Miles handed him a glass before he could respond. Alex noticed his hand shake ever so slightly, but he knew better than to address it. Instead, he stood in silence watching Miles down his drink, his fingers clutching the glass a tad bit tighter than necessary.

Miles was nervous, he could tell. 

He was trying to put off the conversation, Alex realized, to dally and drag it out, because Miles thought Alex was only going to hurt him again. 

Because Miles had given him his love, and Alex’s hungry heart had sucked it dry and shoved him off, when all he wanted was love in return. If only Miles had known then, thought Alex, that it wasn’t his best mate that he was letting into his bed, but a monster. 

And yet, he was still here, tending to him, making himself vulnerable to hurt.

Because, standing there in a hotel room somewhere in Paris, watching Miles pour himself another drink with unsteady hands and down it with determination, bracing himself for the blows he anticipated, it dawned on Alex: the way he couldn’t stop taking, Miles couldn’t stop giving. Even if it was killing him.

If only he knew, that in there, right then, it was Miles that held all the knives.

“Mi..”

He watched as Miles closed his eyes as if the nickname caused him physical pain. Alex wanted to reach out and rub the lines around his eyes until they disappeared. But he swallows the urge. 

He had to speak this time, there was no other way. His mother was right, words were the only things that could end both their misery.

“I miss you.” his voice sounded too shaky and uncertain for his liking. He took a reinforcing breath and tried again with more conviction.

“I know you don’t want anything to do with me, but I just want you back in my life, and I’ll grovel if I have to.” Self-preservation be damned.

"Don't you get it?" Miles sighs, clutching the edge of the minibar cabinet, as if for support. "I want everything to do with you. Even now. Even after all this time. That's my problem!" He gave a mirthless laugh.

"What if I wanted that too?"

Miles’ eyes found his at lightning speed, and it was so wary and so forlorn that Alex struggled to hold it.

"Don't play with me, Alex. I don't have the strength for it anymore."

“I didn’t want to fall in love with you. I’ve tried it all Mi, I’ve tried denying it, replacing it, accepting it, living with it, it’s all shite.”

Alex's heart was beating so fast he was almost afraid it might give out before he had said his peace. He could hear the blood pulsating in his ears. His chest felt tight, and the room felt too warm. He fought the urge to take off his jacket. 

It made him squirm, the way Miles was saying nothing and just staring at him, searching. For what, he didn’t know, perhaps a sign that Alex wasn’t just having him on.

When it became clear Miles wasn’t going to say anything, he took a deep steadying breath and ran his fingers through his nonexistent hair before continuing, not daring to look up at the other.

“I know it should be easy when you love someone, and you know they love you back. But it just isn’t,” he said, to the carpet. “Because, sometimes loving just isn’t enough. What I’m saying is,” He took another deep breath, “I’m scared Miles. I have been scared, for a very long time.”

When he heard Miles’ voice, it was much closer than he had anticipated. 

“What are you scared of? It’s just me.”

He lifted his gaze to find that Miles had moved to stand right in front of him.

"That’s what you don’t understand! It's not just you, it's _you._ "

And he only realized that he was shaking when Miles’ arms gently held his sides and steadied him.

“I’m afraid I'm incapable of this,” he whispered. Letting go of words he had clutched onto for so long felt like the weight of the world lifting off his shoulders. Every word that tumbled out of him made him feel a little bit lighter like they had been physically weighing him down.

“...Of love. The long term relationship kind. God knows I try. But maybe I'm just not built for it. Or maybe I'm jinxed, you used to say it yourself, _the three-year jinx._ And there's no way I'll lose you to it. I can't. Not you.”

"Alex, look at us, we’ve already lost.” 

He didn't want to believe that was true. Even in the pits of his despair, he had held on to the flicker of hope that someday they could find their way back to each other, someday their friendship could be restored because Alex had swerved them away from permanent damage. 

Because he had taken the bullet so their friendship didn't have to. 

And now hearing Miles say the words sent his heart sinking to his stomach.

“It can’t possibly get worse than this, so what are you afraid of losing now? And you really don't believe In that sodding _three-year jinx_ thing, do you? That was a joke for fuck’s sake.”

Alex twisted the ring on his pinky finger. It was only a replacement for the far more precious one he had lost. The absence of its weight had bothered him for days until he went out and bought this one. But like everything else he had tried to replace, it didn’t quite feel right. He traced the smooth surface, over where the embossed letters would have been, before carefully continuing,

“But it’s true.” He looked up at Miles. “Romances end Miles. Lovers, they leave, they turn into hit love songs, and I never see them again. What we have, our friendship is supposed to be forever. 

“What happens if we give this a shot huh? What happens in a few years, maybe not three, but four, or five years? What happens when I hurt you? And I will.”

He felt Miles’ arms slowly fall from his sides.

“I’m despicable. I’m moody, I’m hot-headed, I’m selfish, and inconsiderate. And you don’t want to be on the receiving end of any of that. You’re not one of them. I can't let you be. I can’t bear the thought of you despising me.”

Alex shut his eyes, suddenly overcome with the impulse to simply disappear into thin air. He thought of his bed, back home in LA and the one in his old bedroom at his parents’ place, in Sheffield. But for the first time, neither of those felt like home, neither of them felt like they could comfort him the way he yearned.

“If I love you, you’ll get tired of me, Miles. If I let you love me, you’ll end up hating me.”

“Alex, look at me,” he said, holding his face between his palms and gently lifting it so Alex had no choice but to stare directly into the molten brown orbs. 

“You’re right, I’m not one of them. Because I’ve been here longer than any of them ever have. Don't you see? I’ve been here all along. I've seen it all. Even the ugly parts and the insufferable parts of you. And I want it all. I've always wanted it all. Hell, I practically begged you for it. I'll never not want it.”

“Why?” It comes out barely above a whisper, and he wasn’t sure if Miles even heard him.

It's something he had pondered over a lot, during sleepless nights when he stood on his balcony staring up at the moon, trying to expel his thoughts in smoke, thoughts that adamantly clung to him. Thoughts of where Miles was, what he might be doing in that very moment, who he was kissing. And he’d wondered, _why. Why would Miles want anything more from Alex than what they had, Why would he want more when he could have just the best bits._

“Because I’ve lived through it all, and loved you through it all. I have loved you when you’ve made me laugh, I’ve loved you when you’ve made me want to pull my hair out, and there have been many of those, trust me. I’ve loved you when you’ve made me cry, and I’ll keep loving you no matter how many times you do it. It’s just how it is. Told you I have a problem.” And this time he grinned when he said it, as if he didn't mind it at all.

Alex wanted to believe him. He wanted to have faith so badly, but it was that pesky voice again. It just wouldn’t let him grab the rope Miles is throwing him.

“What happens when you wake up one day and shit’s hit the fan, and the novelty’s worn off, and you regret it all?”

“Listen, I know there was a time when my life didn't have you in it. I know I used to live like that sometime. But I don't know how to anymore,” he said, taking Alex’s hands in his own. “The past two years have been the worst I’ve known. Not being able to text you when I see something funny. Not getting your little voicemails because you're too lazy to type. Not sharing laughs while watching the stars, listening to you spew facts about them that may very well be made up. Not being able to jam with you, write music with you, get excited about new records with you. You’re just infused in every good part of my life, and there’s just nothing I can do about it.” He huffed, raking his fingers through his hair. 

“I love you, Al.” He said, the words sounding more like a pleading than a declaration. As a friend, as more, as everything. I’ll say it as many times as it takes to get it into that noggin o’ yours. I won't stop loving you long after you're done with me. So don't you count on scaring me away. And even if everything goes tits up someday, I’ll still be here. There’s just nowhere else for me to be.”

He saw the sincerity in his friend’s eyes, they were brimming with it, and though it should be reassuring, he struggled to hold the other’s gaze.

“I’m scared,” he repeated weakly. Because he didn’t know what else to say, what words to use to get Miles to see that this was a bad idea, and that Alex was only looking out for them, saving them both from inevitable heartbreak. But his stupid best mate was too daft to take the out.

“Don't be, love,” Miles said instead, resting his forehead against Alex’s. “I'm all yours. Always have been. I just wish you saw that.”

And Alex couldn’t hold them in any longer, the tears that, in many ways, he’s felt like he had been holding back for two years. He shut his eyes and let them spill.

“I love you,” he hiccuped, tasting the words along with the tears. They were words he had said so many times to so many people, but this time they felt heavy in a way they never had before. “But I close my eyes and I see you walking away.”

“Open them, and you’ll see I’m right here.”

Before he could put it to the test, Miles’ lips were on his, and all Alex can do is melt into them. 

And this was it, _home._

***

He's finally able to write those kinds of love songs. 

The open kind, the honest kind, the heartfelt and raw kind.

He's writing them with his lips on the other's skin. And he hopes Miles can feel them. 

He thinks he can because Miles is responding with songs of his own.

The passionate kind, the desperate kind, the devout kind.

Alex can't remember falling in love with Miles.

He only remembers waking up in it, when he's already neck-deep in it. And for a while, he had felt like it might drown him, that it might consume him whole.

But Miles is in it with him. He’s holding him afloat. 

And he's not going anywhere.

It's hard to hold his heart within his body when it threatens to burst out of him like this.

It's also hard to keep his mind reigned in, keeping it from wandering to darker places.

He can hear that voice. It's low, but it's there and it sounds menacing as ever. 

It's telling him it won't last. That it will get Miles too, like it got all the others before him, it's only a matter of time.

But then Miles' lips are pulling him into a kiss, and his hands are in Alex's hair and his body is pressed so close to his own, it feels like they might melt into one. 

Miles is also saying things. Much nicer things. And they sound so much sweeter, so much more sincere, so much more loving than the other’s words.

So he lets himself be pulled towards it.

The other voice gets smaller and smaller until it's reduced to nothing more than a soft hum in the back of his head.

He can feel Miles' pale fingers glide down his body, tracing a path from his neck, to his chest, his sides. Wandering. Ever so demanding.

Almost as if he wants his fingertips to memorize every ripple, every curve, every edge of Alex’s form. 

Like if he didn't keep touching, Alex might vanish.

He feels Miles’ weight on him, pinning him down to the bed, pinning him down to this world, keeping him from drifting off. 

The weight should feel uncomfortable, but Alex only craves more. So he pulls him closer and locks him between his legs.

And then Miles’ hand is between them. Wrapping around him, lazily tugging, coaxing him into hardness.

Miles kisses him once, twice, and then he's sinking down. Alex only has a moment to mourn the loss of his lips, because now they're wrapped around him, and all he can do to keep from bucking into his throat is grab on to a handful of the other's hair with one hand, and twist the sheets with the other.

Before he can reach his release, Miles is pulling away. 

He’s almost about to whine in protest, but it's cut off by Miles whispering in his ear, "I want you to come inside me." 

Alex moans at the words. He doesn't know if he'll be able to last that long if Miles keeps saying things like that, and his hand keeps pumping the way it is.

He's now pinning the other down, and he takes a moment to look down at him. 

To look down at his handiwork. 

They're peppered all over the other's neck and chest, and even his inner thigh. And he thinks to himself that he's never laid eyes on a prettier sight. And they'll only get prettier tomorrow.

To be able to watch Miles fall apart around his fingers like this. Alex feels unexpectedly... blessed.

He watches his fingers disappear in and out of the other until Miles is begging him to stop, to just fuck him already, and Alex thinks no, this is the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen.

How had it taken him so long to see that this is all he needed. That Miles was all he needed. That everything he could ever dream of wanting had been thrown into his lap, and he had been too daft to see it. 

Right in front of his eyes.

But now that the blindfolds were off, now that he had this, again, he silently vows to never give it up, to protect it, to fight for it with all his might, even against himself if he has to. 

  
He rests his palm on the left side of the other’s chest.

He can feel Miles' heart just beneath it. Pumping away, keeping him alive.

"You'll be here when I wake up?"

"I'll be here for as long as you'll have me."

He feels the familiar pair of soft lips brush against his forehead as he closes his eyes. Miles’s arms around him like a warm cocoon as he drifts carelessly to sleep. 

He isn't afraid of having nightmares of bloodthirsty monsters tonight, because he knows he’ll be safe in the other’s arms.

He isn’t afraid of dreaming beautiful dreams either. 

Because if Miles means what he says, when he wakes up from them, there will be no remorse in having lost them, because the reality that greets him on the other side will be just as beautiful.

  
  
  


* * *

**Author's Note:**

> The ending was a little dessert for anyone who powered through the rest of the boiled vegetables main course ahaha  
> What are your thoughts? let me know.
> 
> A/N I felt like I put way too much cigarette smoking in here, but then I remembered our dude is basically a chimney, so it's very true to form lol. Anyway, what I want to say is, smoking isn't cool, kids. Don't do drugs. Stay in school. Hug your parents.
> 
> P.S. The backstory I've mentioned for Alex's scar is something I've read online. But when I tried looking it up I couldn't find anything, so it's very likely I've read it in some fic. In which case, credits to whoever came up with that. 
> 
> You can also find me simping for musicians [ here. ](https://johnlennon-as-a-tv-chef.tumblr.com/)


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